the talk goes on forever;
unfocused, the tumult of noises sounds
like the symptom of a fever.
I pick out one voice after another,
disappointed as each
seems to me to be a foreign language
I cannot speak.
It’s the silent ones I can understand,
shrouded in loneliness or pensive thoughts
or maybe just nothing at all.
Are they, like me,
as to how the past
from Spring into Winter
As the noise, the
noise goes on forever…